


Kissing Ivy

by PoisonKisses



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, So much kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: Written for #InternationalKissingDayIvy's kissed a lot.





	Kissing Ivy

**Author's Note:**

> Busy, haven't written much, had to jot something down for Ivy's day, International Kissing Day.
> 
> Hope you like it.

She liked kissing Kate. It didn’t happen often, Kate had her own part of Gotham and they rarely crossed paths, but Kate knew how to kiss back, knew how to make it count, and always became an equal partner--wrapping her in her arms and pulling her close, letting her mold their curves together. Kate would moan softly in the back of her throat, open her mouth, enjoy every second of it.

Ivy never used pheromones on her, never used her kiss as a weapon, even defensively. Ivy knew she’d been subject to a heartbreaking mind control--feeling ‘love’ that was false--and Ivy wasn’t that cruel.

She’d felt that herself once.

Never again.

***

Mera tasted like salt water. Ivy would tangle her hands in Mera’s long hair--hair almost the same shade of red as her own--and feel the other woman’s Atlantean strength, feel her muscles surge with ecstasy as their lips slid wetly together. Mera’s body was sleek, lithe, well-muscled--a professional swimmer’s body, and once she had that green outfit (Mera knew what colors worked best) she loved to explore it with her tongue, tracing the lines of muscle with her lips, feel Mera’s back arch when she took her nipples into her mouth. They tasted like saltwater too.

It always came back to her lips, though. Soft and eager and salty.

***

She was a dirty little secret to Lois. She was that for many, in fact, but Lois loved meeting her, kissing her aggressively, their dominant personalities clashing like two warships. Lois was fiercely perceptive, she smelled like expensive perfume, and she made a soft keening noise when she orgasmed, her eyes shut tight, fingers fisted in Ivy’s curls, calling on God in a high pitched voice that was almost a sob. When Ivy was done--when Lois was lying back, breathing hard, pulse racing, eyes glazed from pleasure, that was when Ivy loved kissing her the most, letting her taste herself on Ivy’s lips.

“Please don’t go,” Lois would say, but she didn’t mean it. She was married to Superman, the paramour of THE superhero, and Ivy understood it could never be, but lazy, sweaty kisses snatched whenever possible were something she enjoyed. She always answered Lois’s number.

***

Karen was maybe the only woman in the costumed community who was bustier than Ivy herself. She was strong, immensely so, and when they came together to kiss, hungrily, Ivy’s breasts crushed against Karen’s in a way that they could’ve sold to porn sites or men’s magazines, their curves coming together and molding until they were almost one person. Karen’s short hair tousled, eyes lidded heavily from pleasure, inviting, red mouth parted--all served to turn Ivy on.  
Ivy admired her control, a control that was necessary to keep from hurting her, and Karen would hold her almost like she was made of tissue paper when they were done, lying together, stretched out, long legs entwined, Ivy idly using her nails to tease Karen’s nipples...but Kryptonians recovered quickly, and Ivy was tireless herself. It was all weekend affair when it happened.

It was exhilarating, especially when Karen held her close and took her flying. Kissing her, clinging to her, as they zipped over Metropolis was like a dream.

***

It started as an experiment. “Could you learn to understand plants if you kissed me, the way you did English?” Kori was amenable. She was tall and statuesque, Ivy stood on her tip toes, head craned back, but the alien girl quickly crouched to meet her.

Everyone is the same height on their back.

Kori didn’t learn how to speak to plants, but she did learn how to kiss, how to kiss a woman, how to BE kissed. Ivy taught her the language of kissing, of touching, of being more than just a receptacle. They stretched out in the sun, Ivy exploring her mouth. Kori called out in Tamaranian, her glowing green eyes wide with shock at what she felt. Ivy loved the feel of the power thrumming through Kori, loved the way the girl clutched at her, the way she let Ivy’s tongue slip into her mouth and, despite how normally aggressive she was, almost shyly, demurely met it with her own.

Raven’s eyes were knowing. Maybe jealous. But sad. Ivy understood, it was something the empath couldn’t have, but someday, when the turbulent storm of emotion could be handled, she promised to taste those purple lips too.

***

Selina tasted like lipstick--the expensive kind, not department store garbage--at least in the beginning. Later, after they’d become friends, roommates, and to some people’s surprise, lovers, she tasted like the lipstick Ivy made for her, all natural, cruelty free, vegan--a color that wouldn’t fade or wash off after a full night of Catwoman.

Selina was an excellent kisser. Sex was one thing, and Selina was good at it, but sex was an afterthought for her. She’d done it too much for other reasons--a mark, a payment. “You can’t fake a kiss, the other person will know if they don’t already,” Selina was fond of saying.

Ivy couldn’t tell her she was her best friend, she loved her. The only thing Ivy could do was show her, and that’s how she kissed her. Longing. Hunger. Affection. The kind of kiss that leaves you breathless and nearly weeping. Selina would come for a massage, seeking Ivy’s strong, slender hands on her back and shoulders, but it was the taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressing against her, that she was truly after.

Ivy didn’t mind.

Selina couldn’t ever admit it either. She loved Ivy. She wanted Ivy. But there was too much water under the bridge. Harley. Bruce. And that was ok.   
Ivy didn’t mind. 

Bruce made Selina happy. At the end of the day, when she tasted Selina’s lipstick--vegan, cruelty free, all natural--that’s really all she wanted.

Selina. Happy.

***

Too many times...too many...Harley’s lips tasted salty from tears. Or blood. Or both. Too many kisses ruined because that _animal_ put his hands on the one human being who made Ivy laugh, who reminded her she herself was human too.

Early on, Harley’s lips were painted black with stage makeup. They’d leave a mess on Ivy’s face, not that she minded, but over time Ivy improved what Harley wore, and then when the jester girl finally broke from _him_ , when she started wearing her own makeup, her own outfit, Ivy was able to get better quality stuff into Harley’s hands.

Harley’s kisses tasted better then.

Now they were sweet. They tasted like bubble gum or kool aid, sunshine, laughter. No more tears. If there was blood it was rarely Harley’s.

That’s how Ivy preferred it. How she liked to remember those kisses. 

Harley was greedy. Thirsty for kissing. Ivy admired her complete lack of decorum, her total obliviousness to society’s niceties when it came to public displays of affection. They shocked many when they kissed at the boardwalk, or the movies, or just sitting at a stoplight. Harley would lean over, that hungry look in her eyes and chewing her pouty lower lip, her universal signal for kissing.

Ivy would oblige.

But Ivy’s favorite kissing was right before, when she was pulling Harley in by her choker or collar, tugging her toward the bedroom. There would be laughter in Harley’s eyes, not pain or fear, and that’s what mattered most.

Harley was safe.

Harley was hers.

Harley would giggle when Ivy tickled her with grazing kisses over her svelte body, tracing scars with the tip of her tongue, replacing pain and fear with fun and pleasure. She’d sigh with contentment when they were done, sweaty and flushed and Harley never looked so beautiful to Ivy than those stolen moments, just the two of them, with Gotham and the world’s problems and _him_ shut out.

Harley would whisper, “Kiss me, Red. Kiss me some more?”

And Ivy would.


End file.
